Last Diner Standing (7 page)

Soon, a tiny, gray-haired woman in a black sweater and slacks joined him. “You, go away.” She shooed me.

I kept one eye on the couple as I continued to slip flyers under windshield wipers.

“Shoo. Go or I call police,” she yelled.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I said. At least I hoped not. Getting arrested was not on the agenda today.

Without warning, the woman tucked her chin to her chest and charged at me like a Pamplona bull. I was twenty-five feet away, but so shocked, I stood rooted to the sidewalk. I glanced to my left, then my right. As she neared, I spun on my heel and ran as she chased me through the parking lot, losing one of my new crappy gloves in the process.

We must have looked like a couple of loons, me looking over my shoulder, her chasing me and shouting. She was a fast runner, too. She must have had forty years on me, but she was in much better shape. We dodged and weaved. I’d feign to the left and she’d circle to the right. My goal was to get to Axton’s car on the far side of the lot. But this crazy woman closed in on me at the opposite end.

She finally trapped me between a car and the busy street in front of the strip mall. When she advanced, I tried to maneuver around the car, but there just wasn’t enough room unless I wanted to get squashed by oncoming traffic.

She moved toward me and started slapping at my upper arms. “You go away.”

“Ow, stop that.” I tried to fend her off with the flyers, but they were slick in my one gloved hand and I lost my hold. In the brisk December breeze, the flyers took flight and scattered all over the ground.

“Look,” she yelled. “Look at what you do.” Smack, smack.

“Stop it!” I now held up my arms to shield myself.

I supposed
I
could have called the police, but with my luck, Officer Hard Ass would show up. The whole incident would get a write up in the paper and I’d never hear the end of it from my mother.

Tired of the woman’s slaps, I finally scampered over the trunk of the car, and running like I was a teenage rock star being chased by twelve-year-old groupies, I forced myself to go faster, even as the muscles in my legs burned. I made it to the Honda and glanced behind me. Standing in front of her restaurant, the crazy lady shook a tiny fist at me. I crammed myself behind the steering wheel and hauled ass out of the parking lot, gulping for air, my heart beating so hard I thought it might burst through my chest.

I parked behind the diner and staggered through the kitchen door.

Chapter 7

The place was hopping as it always was at noon. I grabbed a glass of water and downed it, then tied on an apron, snagged a pad, and got to work.

After one, we hit a wall. No customers, lunch or otherwise. Roxy refilled the ketchup bottles and New Kid sat at the counter and sipped a Coke.

Hands on her hips, Ma glared at me. “Did you put out all those flyers?”

“Most of them, but the Chinese restaurant people threatened to call the police and I had to fight my way out of there.”

“That’s terrible. It’s a free country. You have every right to put out those flyers if you want.”

I didn’t want.

Roxy and I found some busy work, but after dusting every square inch of the diner and cleaning the windows, we resorted to playing tic-tac-toe with the salt and pepper shakers. It was a relief when Axton came in at two-thirty.

He hopped up on a stool and dropped his backpack on the counter. He glanced over at New Kid. “Who’s he?”

“Ma hired him to bus tables. So, what’s up?”

“Well, I found out some info on Chicken Licker.”

Roxy walked by and lightly punched his arm. “Hey, Axman.”

“Hey, Rox. I dig the threads today.” She wore a dress with a laced up bodice and extremely short skirt. She paired it with knee high platform boots. Beer garden dominatrix. Quite a showstopper.

“So what’s the what on Crystal Waters?” I asked. “Gimme.”

He pulled a manila folder out of his bag and handed it to me.

I scanned through the pages and Roxy peered over my shoulder. Two arrests for domestic assault. Her driver’s license picture wasn’t half bad—long, dark hair, tan skin, lots of creative eye makeup. But her mug shot showed a different side. Dark streaks of mascara and eyeliner had left inky trails down her cheeks and her hair had been pulled into an uneven ponytail.

I laid the pages on the counter. “Domestic assault on a former boyfriend. Another good reason why Crystal is a suspect.”

“Crystal has a past history with violence and she was fighting publicly with Asshat in the strip club before he was attacked,” Roxy said.

“After work, we’re going to drop in on her,” I said. “You want come, too, Ax?”

“Sorry, I’ve got plans tonight.”

I leaned on the counter and stared at him. “Plans? You never have plans.”

“New game comes out tomorrow—
Target Terminated 2: Target Eliminated
. Joe’s been sleeping in a tent in front of the store for the last two days. Told him I’d bring him dinner.” Stoner Joe was Axton’s wasted roommate. His name said it all.

“Really?” Roxy asked. “Stoner Joe is more important than getting Janelle out of jail?”

“Sorry, but I made a promise.”

I sighed. “Fine. Go play your little reindeer games. Roxy and I will do the dirty work.” I packaged up the last two donuts and sent him on his way.

Crystal lived in an upscale condo just north of Apple Tree Boulevard. A gift from her rich lover perhaps?

Roxy and I walked into the building and found her unit, 3B. I rang the bell and waited.

Roxy put her ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe we should check it out.”

I glanced around. No one poked their head into the hall to ask what the hell we were doing. Always a good sign. “Here.” I dug more gloves out of my purse and handed her a pair.

In seconds she picked the lock and gave me a thumb’s up. We slipped into the condo and quietly closed the door.

“Nice digs,” Roxy whispered.

Very nice. Apparently stripping and sleeping with rich men made a ton more than waitressing. Who knew? A white leather sofa and love seat were arranged in the small living room. Crystal decorated for the holidays with a mini tree on her coffee table. She forewent the traditional ornaments and draped the whole thing in ropes of fake diamonds. At least I assumed they were fake.

“Do you want to start in here, Rox? Remember to lift the cushions and check the vents.”

“You’re telling me the drill?”

I left her to it and hit the kitchen. I thought about all those places they say thieves look, like the flour canister—she didn’t have one. The freezer—three Lean Cuisines and four bottles of flavored vodka (cotton candy, bacon, whipped cream, and cookie dough). Ugh. I methodically, but quickly, went through every cupboard, her oven, and drawers. The missing money wasn’t hiding in her kitchen and I didn’t find any evidence she’d bashed in Asshat’s head. A written confession would have been nice.

I met Roxy in the hallway. “Nothing. You?”

She shook her head. “You want the bedroom or the bathroom?”

“Bed.” I moved down the short hall.

Crystal had one bedroom and it was très cheesy. Black wallpaper with pictures of diamonds covered one wall, the rest were painted eye-popping pink. The bed was a mass of black and pink satin. 

I picked up one of the silver frames on the mirrored bedside table. She had a lot of photos of herself, but only one of a tall blond guy with lots of muscles. I studied the photo and put it back where I found it. He didn’t look like a sugar daddy. 

I yanked open the shallow drawer and found condoms and sex toys and a day planner. Hello, Gorgeous. I stuck the planner in my purse to peruse later at my leisure.

I moved to the bed and lifted the mattress, checked the pillows and beneath the satin dust ruffle. Nothing. The dresser held a profusion of nasty underwear.

I had just started to rifle through an alarming amount of shelf bras when I heard a key slide into the front door. Shit.

“Roxy,” I whispered.

She sped into the bedroom and we glanced around for a place to hide. She finally grabbed me and hauled me to the bed and we slid underneath.

My heart beat double time and it seemed like my breathing was really loud. Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. What if Crystal called the police? What if she had a gun?

I heard shuffling, then creaks from the leather furniture in the living room. Footsteps down the hall. Someone entered the room.

“I haven’t found it.” This had to be Crystal. I assumed she was talking on the phone and not to herself. Her voice was high-pitched and a little squeaky. The closet door opened and closed. “Of course I’ve looked.” She sat on the bed.

I held my breath and prayed she wouldn’t look underneath for any reason.

“I know. Okay, bye.”

Something thumped against the wall and my whole body tensed. Then she moved off the bed and wandered around the room. I heard drawers opening and closing. I hoped she didn’t need her day planner.

After a few minutes, she left the room and the shower turned on. I reached out and squeezed Roxy’s hand. She squeezed back.

I lifted the dust ruffle and peeked out from beneath the bed, relieved to see she wasn’t in the room. Straining my ears, I listened for any movement other than the water. It was now or never. I scampered from beneath the bed, Roxy right behind me.

We quietly made our way to the bedroom door and I poked my head into the hall. Around the corner, I spotted Crystal’s silhouette through the opaque shower door. I nodded at Roxy and we fled the condo, running through the building and out into the parking lot.

With fumbling fingers, I shoved the key into the ignition, and raced off. My heart didn’t stop pounding until we were a mile away, parked in a convenience store parking lot.

I glanced over at Roxy. “That was close.”

“Way too close.”

I jerked my purse onto my lap and dug out the day planner. I paged through it, but there was no appointment for today’s date, so I flipped through the last week. Crystal had a very busy life of manicures, salon trips, waxing appointments. Then I saw the name ‘Daddy’ and flipped the book to show Roxy.

“So, she had lunch with her dad,” she said.

“At three on a Wednesday afternoon? There were no pics of him in the place. Strippers tend to have daddy issues.” I checked back a few weeks. “Lots of Wednesday afternoons with Daddy.”

Roxy glanced at me, her blue eyes wide. “Sugar daddy?”

“That would be my guess.” There was no contact info listed in the address part of the book. No personal info on Daddy at all. “But we still don’t know who he is.”

“Do you think that’s who she was talking to on the phone?”

I sighed. “Don’t know.”

Our next stop was the muffler shop. According to Sondra, Asshat used to work here, and from what Janelle told me this morning, his friend Marcus still did.

I pulled into a lot with at least a dozen other cars. A dark tow truck was parked off to one side. Being here reminded me I needed an oil change. And if I still had my car, I’d totally get one.

I strode into the waiting room and Roxy followed behind. A strong mix of rubber, oil, and gas filled the air. Banging and clanging sounds from the garage echoed through the room. A man in a filthy blue shirt with an embroidered nametag that read ‘John’ stood behind the counter.

“Is Marcus here?” I asked.

He scratched his cheek with an oil-stained hand. “Who’s asking?”

“A friend of Sheik’s.”

“Just a minute.” He left through the glass door that led to the garage. While I waited, I glanced around at the plastic tan chairs, the coin op toy machine, and the empty coffeepot in the corner.

A tall, cute African American man walked through the door, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. We’d like to talk to you about Sheik.”

His eyes flicked over me. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jane.”

Roxy, who had stuck two quarters in the toy machine and was turning the knob, waved. “I’m Elizabeth.”

Marcus looked a little taken aback by her outfit, then lowered his brows. “What do you want to know about Sheik?”

“We’re interested in all that money he was throwing around.”

“What the hell business is it of yours?” He narrowed his brown eyes and set his fists on the counter, the rag clenched in one hand.  

“From what I hear, he’s unemployed,” I said.

“So where did it come from?” Roxy asked.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are—”

“Friends of Janelle’s. She’d like a piece of Sheik’s pie.”

“She’s got kids to feed, you know,” Roxy said.

The waves of anger coming off him beat at me. “That bitch tried to kill my Holmes. She’s lucky she’s in jail where I can’t touch her.”

“She didn’t hit Sheik, Marcus. She’s innocent.”

He scoffed. “If she didn’t do it, who the fuck did?”

“Crystal?” I asked.

“Nah, Crystal’s got a temper. She’d bitch slap someone, maybe take off her shoe and whack him, but she wouldn’t put him in a coma.”

“Crystal and Sheik had a big fight at The Bottom Dollar last week,” I said.

Roxy walked up to the counter to stand next to me. “And she was arrested for domestic assault twice.”

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s a matter of public record,” I said. “Who else was Sheik dating?”

“Sheik doesn’t date, he hooks up.”

“Who was he hooking up with?”

“It doesn’t matter. Janelle’s the one who did this. End of story.” He strode toward the glass door, jerked it open so hard the handle banged against the wall.

“That guy’s got some anger issues.”

Roxy held up a rub-on flaming heart tattoo she’d gotten from the machine. “For sure.”

We made one more stop at the vet clinic to talk to Sheik’s sister, Roshanda. It was after five and the office was surprisingly busy. While Roxy and I waited in line for our turn at the desk, a tan cat pounced on Roxy’s feet and made figure eights between her legs.

“Cats love me,” she said, reaching down to rub behind its ears.

When I stepped up to the front desk, I asked to speak to Roshanda.

A young woman about my age glanced over her shoulder. “She’s really busy.”

“I’ll just slip on back. I only need to talk to her for a second.” She didn’t stop us as we darted behind the desk.

I opened a door and was hit with howls, hisses, and whines.

Cages lined opposite walls. Dogs on one side, cats on the other.

A woman in pink scrubs and a short, blond afro sped past us. “Who are you?” She reached into one of the dog cages and pulled out a trembling pug.

“I’m a friend of Janelle’s. I need to talk to you about Sheik.”

She hooked a leash to the dog’s collar and strode toward the front of the office. “Walk with me.”

For a second, I didn’t know if she was talking to me or the dog.

I ran to catch up. “You’re the one who called Janelle and told her that Sheik was throwing money around. Why did you do that?”

She stepped through the door. “Puddles? Owner of Puddles?”

A woman in red slacks and a silk blouse came forward. She leaned down and scooped up the shaking dog. “How’s my Puddlewuddles? How’s my boy?”

“He’s doing better. Doc says feed him soft food and keep an eye on him. If the symptoms come back, take him to the emergency animal clinic.” Roshanda spun and sidestepped her way around me.

“I called Janelle because I know she’s struggling. If Sheik got a hold of some money, she deserves her share for those kids.” She walked back down the hall and I trailed her.

“But how did you find out Sheik had money in the first place?”

She glanced over at me with a raised brow. “Crystal called me, raising hell. Wanted to know where Sheik got the money and demanded half. I told her to blow it out her skinny white ass.”

In the back room, Roxy stood next to the cat cages, rubbing the chin of a calico. “Where do you think Sheik got the money?” she asked.

Roshanda stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Who are you girls?”

“I’m Rose, that’s Roxy. We’re trying to help Janelle. She was arrested, you know.”

She sighed. “I know and I can’t help but feel responsible. I told her about Sheik and the money. I should have kept it to myself. And no, I have no idea where he got it. But he borrowed three hundred dollars from me last month, and I need it back.”

“What about his girlfriends?” I asked.

She walked over the cat cages and opened a door. She whisked a black kitten out and stroked its fur. “I’m not sure. Sheik is like a tomcat, dicking around where he shouldn’t be. I try my best to stay out of his love life. I’d need some kind of scorecard to keep up with him, and frankly, I’m just not that interested.”

It was close to six by the time I got back to my apartment. I dug out my notebook and started making a list of questions. Top of the list, where did Asshat get that money? Also, why did he have photos of Sullivan hidden in his toilet? If he was following Sullivan, why?

Then I made a list of the players and a little description of each. Muffler Man, Marcus Walker, had been a wash. But Janelle said he was shady. I wondered what she meant by that. I added Freddy Libra, because he owned the club where Asshat spent his money. I still needed to talk to Chicken Licker, as well as Little Donnell, Asshat’s brother.